


Rush Over Me

by mayvins



Category: Tales of Destiny 2
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drunkenness, Inferiority Complex, M/M, Slight Voyeurism, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 19:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayvins/pseuds/mayvins
Summary: “You’re drunk and I’m dead.” Inspired by Judas’ bedroom eyes.





	Rush Over Me

**Author's Note:**

> Shameful PWP, what more can I say? Please share half the regret with me, readers.
> 
> Title from the Seven Lions x Illenium x Said the Sky song feat. Haliene (Synx Remix, in particular) of the same name.

_Ah, the lengths one had to go for a little bit of privacy!_

Chaltier was sure his young master thought as much whilst he searched, hand poised on the Swordian’s hilt as he moved through the Ground Forces’ headquarters like a shadow. Unlike Radislowe, the barracks were poorly insulated from the bitter cold and, although Chaltier could no longer feel it, his memories were validated by the small bumps beneath Judas’ sleeves. While he had at one time been proud of his military rank and the exceptional swordsmanship that got him there, Chaltier never could forget the harrows of war—not that his core crystal would allow him—no matter how he tried to repress the intrusion. And he knew the base like the back of his hands—that is, when he had had them.

“ _Young Master, to the left. Enter here._ ”

It seemed sound to navigate Judas to an area where he himself absconded when he wanted time alone, mainly for writing in his journal or the consumption of certain literature (“How to Distinguish a Greater Good from a Bad One” being a personal favorite despite its difficulty in practice). Igtenos was kind enough to never bring attention to any of his collection found amongst their shared living quarters, but the major had a certain pride to maintain. Thus, the small nook in the corner behind a labyrinth of supplies seemed perfect for sequestration. 

Although Chaltier was happy that the reticent swordsman had gained a second chance at camaraderie despite his twisted fate, he admittedly missed the times in which their conversations could flow more naturally in lieu of their unconventional companionship. The group had been made aware of his past, yes, but Judas still retained his privacy. Moreover, Harold had instantly recognized the Swordian Chaltier on Judas’ person. Keeping him secret was reasoned to preserve the timeline as much as possible, though the underlying protective nature that Judas would surely deny was something that Chaltier felt genuinely touched by. Some things never changed.

After slipping past the swath of moleskin hung over the ingress of one of the crudely built shanties, Chaltier continued to direct Judas through the underground tunnel. At the very least, it should provide him some reprieve from the brumal climate. The various merchants purveying supplies in the area had mostly retired for the night, and the scant lookouts, while openly wary given Judas’ choice of presentation, had been instructed that their group be treated as special guests. It allowed them to flit around the base with relative ease despite their desire for discretion.

Soon Judas found himself tiptoeing his way past various wooden crates and barrels. The supply cubby was far from elegant by any means—but an upgrade to a jail cell, the Swordian assured. However, before they could reach their objective, Judas’ foot met with something organic and Chaltier let out a soft groan. 

“Chal, be quiet.” Not that anyone could hear him. Force of a dreadful habit, perhaps.

“ _Eh? Young Master, that wasn—_ ”

“This Chal— _hic_ —tier won’t be talked down to by, by the likes of _you_ , … M-Masked Boy!”

Some things never changed indeed.

Judas moved quickly to conceal Chaltier with his cape as the latter reeled in silent embarrassment. The Swordian should have known better, really. Anywhere that he frequented in the past, he would surely frequent now—er, then? Still, it was strange to see his original master—that is, _himself_ —and even more so in such precarious circumstances. 

“What d’ _you_ want?” The sound of a bottle clinking dangerously against the hard dirt floor followed his query; then the major rose to his feet, though it took several attempts and clambering up against the wall until he actually made it there. It was clear with how he puffed his chest and gazed down at the swordsman that he was at least _trying_ to appear intimidating, but it fell flat given that he reeked of alcohol and barely a head above Judas himself. Master Chaltier prided himself on the achievement regardless, much to the latter's unspoken disdain. _Of course_ Chal had to be taller than him, too.

“Well?” he slurred. “Here to ask for some advice from the _great_ Major Pierre de Chaltier? Like how to shwing your shword, perhapsss?”

“ _Ahhh_ ,” If the Swordian had a tongue, he would certainly have clicked it, “ _my apologies, Young Master._ ”

Judging by how much the major swayed, Judas surmised he had difficulty in holding his liquor, though refrained from inquiring as to how it had been procured in the first place. Particularly because he was not at all interested, but also because he refused to become an accomplice by association. He did, however, make a mental note to later inquire of his Swordian this newfound revelation.

It was in his best interest to just leave him be, but well, him being _Chal_ —even if not _his_ Chal—made a convincing argument. It reminded him that he knew very little about his Swordian before their lives were tangled together and Chal hardly spoke of himself unless prompted, which Judas suddenly felt guilty for doing so little of. Perhaps that was what led him to begrudgingly wrap an arm around the slumped over major.

“What are you— _hic_ —doing?”

“Something I’ll probably regret.” 

“Unhand me!” Judas was met with resistance as the major flailed in a most unbecoming scene of defiance. At least he had an inkling to keep his voice down to a dull roar and back off before Judas abandoned him completely. It made him wonder how the major and his Chal were at some time the same person.

It was an awkward exchange, the smaller swordsman supporting the major down the tunnel as the latter attempted one foot in front of the other, failing miserably. What started out as a team effort soon dissolved into a one-man act, which would have been less of a problem if not for their slight difference in stature. Instead, Judas was stuck bearing Chaltier’s full weight, the major’s limp feet dragging across the ground and proving cumbersome. At one point, Judas had half a mind to dump him out into the snow after the latter nearly spilt the contents of his stomach. Nevertheless, he persisted as his Swordian, no doubt mortified at this point, hastily guided him back to his—rather, his former master’s—quarters.

After safely depositing the major on his bed and forcing him to down a glass of water, Judas turned on his heel to take his leave, only to be interrupted by a sigh from behind him. A step forward and he heard yet another, albeit a bit louder. His foot was an inch shy of touching the ground on his third step before—

“… ahh.” 

This sounded all too familiar. Against his better judgement and the quiet chiding from his hip, the swordsman finally craned his neck back to see what had the major so bothered. Though his peripheral vision was somewhat limited due to his mask, he could still make out his expression, brow creased in what he assumed to be frustration. 

Judas felt the onset of a terrible headache in his temples. His patience had been more finite during his time as Leon Magnus but dealing with Kyle daily had steeled him. Nonetheless, he found himself asking through a sigh of his own, “What is it?”

“Masked Boy, I don’t want to do this again!”

The swordsman humored him by arching a brow and humming, not that the major needed the prompt before delving into his diatribe. Judas could swear he heard another lapse of sighing, but it was overlaid by the incoming word spew.

“Being a part of the Swordian Team was supposed to be _my_ chance, but here I am holding everyone back. I’m undeniably useless!” He punctuated every word with intemperate hand gestures. “Lieutenant-General Dymlos is always pushing me into a corner with his overconfidence and now _you_ —” he motioned widely towards the swordsman, which Judas took to imply Kyle and the others as well, “—have to show up when I finally feel as if I can accomplish something!” 

Ah, so that was what had led up to the alcohol binge. Regardless, it still made the major incredibly mouthy and vulnerable—ironic, considering the murmur in his head had ceased entirely. 

“Stop blaming your own shortcomings on others.” Perhaps that was too harsh. “The only one you’re holding back is yourself.” He did not mince his proffered words, although somehow the undertone of care that manifested when conversing with his Swordian pervaded. Only instead of the more decorous responses he was accustomed to, this Chaltier just scoffed. 

“That doesn’t sound much like advice.” A long pause followed. “… But—” he reclaimed his air of hubris albeit now with an added touch of humility, “—this Pierre de Chaltier thanks you.” 

“If that is all, my participation here is done.” It came out terser than Judas had intended.

“Masked Boy—er,” the major flustered. “Rather, Judas.” The moniker sounded strange coming from that voice, but he said nothing. Chaltier bit his lip, then finally: “Stay.”

Judas’ fingers ghosted over Chal’s core crystal, which vibrated softly under his touch. He had every intention of declining the abrupt invitation, but there was something about registering that before him—in corporeal form—was… well, _Chal_. Although he was not quite as the swordsman had sometimes dared to imagine him. Instead, a pale man in ancient clothes, mouse-gray hair, and anxious eyes stared back at him. He was not the Chal who sang him his mother’s forgotten lullaby, who was a constant companion by his side for as long as he could remember, who forsook his duty as a Swordian to follow him in death’s embrace, but Judas felt a profound appreciation swell up in his chest all the same. Before he knew it, he had pulled out the desk chair and sat down.

Then, silence.

“Say, why do you wear that mask anyway?”

The question came out of nowhere—so much that even Chaltier appeared surprised at his own gumption. If he had still been Leon Magnus, perhaps he would have snapped back for him to shut up, that it was none of his business. But Judas’ expression merely stiffened and Chaltier panicked under his silent gaze.

“W-Well it’s fine either way…” he yielded much too forthwith, features contorting in a sheepish simper as his eyes found pills on the bedsheets. 

Disappointment at his own tactlessness settled uncomfortably in Judas’ parotid glands, tight on the sides of his neck. Without a face, he had remained shamefully unaware as to Chal’s inmost heart but seeing it palpable in his facial features added a new dimension. How many times had he been quick to dismiss the Swordian? Although Chal dropped hints of his war memories, not once did he realize the bigger picture—that Chal’s own trauma and interpersonal relationships were more complex than simply being caught up in Dymlos and Atwight’s love affair. 

“Sorry, Chal.” His mouth was dry as he spoke. As much as he desired to reaffirm his apology with a gentle touch to the Swordian’s core, he withheld out of concern for being exposed. The major blustered.

“Ch-Chal?” he flummoxed, speechless. Somewhere amidst covert happiness at being treated with such familiarity did his pessimism catch up to him, the dark thought that it was a ploy to debase him percolating. He lowered his eyes once again in response as Judas belatedly realized his mistake. Chaltier was about to launch into another tirade when the masked swordsman abruptly stood.

“—Where are you going?” was all he could muster dumbly. 

It was Judas’ turn to shift his focus to the floor. Although it took him a moment to verbalize, the last time he spoke having been met with catastrophe after all, he settled on a polite but pithy retraction: “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Surprise rushed over him as Chaltier sprung from the bed and grabbed at the ruffles of his sleeves in a near desperate measure. “Don’t.”

Judas was paralyzed. After a few moments, he even took himself off guard by reaching out and placing his own hand over the one grasping his arm. The major’s grip loosened under his touch and Judas could feel the slightest of tremors. It beckoned to mind Chal’s core crystal during those rare moments of calm mirth.

He was even less prepared when Chaltier managed to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his tight mouth. Judas could detect a faint taste of brandy with the contact. Perhaps intoxicated by sheer proximity, he found himself allowing it and daresay returning the indulgence. The Swordian Chaltier made an indiscernible noise and his counterpart pulled away dizzily.

“Did you say something?”

“No.” Judas grabbed the major's collar intending to pull him into another kiss, only to fumble when his mask bumped Chaltier’s cheekbone. In his urgency, spatial awareness had been lost on him. 

“May I…?” Chaltier cautiously reached out towards the headpiece and Judas flinched instinctively, causing the major to retract his hands. He knew better than to agree. Showing his face to the original master of his Swordian had the potential to wreak havoc on history. Judas’ eyes flitted towards the closed door to determine an escape, but the major’s eyes followed in close pursuit to offer a reason not to.

“Don’t worry. If you were privy to the meeting, you’d know that Major-General Igtenos won’t be returning tonight.” His voice was laced with a thread of stubbornness. “Stay with me.”

Judas sighed and crossed his arms. Chaltier let his own fall limply to his sides in unspoken apology, pleading pitifully. 

“You’re drunk and I’m dead,” Judas relented through a poignant sigh.

Before the major could express bewilderment at the implied paradox, Judas hooked his fingers underneath opposite sides of the bonemask. “I trust you won’t utter a word of this. Not even to your Swordian.” From his waist was a soft thrum of unconvincing disapproval, but something about seeing the face of his lifelong confidant in such a fragile state compelled him to respond with surprising candor. 

When he removed the mask completely, the major failed to fully suppress the gasp that escaped him. Even in the dim lighting, Judas was beautiful, like a doll, with hair the color of midnight framing a soft, elegant face and skin so fair it seemed almost translucent. Sophisticated, piercing violet eyes veiled by long lashes reflected Chaltier’s every movement and the major could feel the heat originating from his cheeks reach his ears before he finally had the decency to tear his gaze away.

In turn, Judas gingerly placed the skull atop the desk, taking advantage of the major’s awestruck aversion to also unclasp his cape and protectively obscure Chal beneath where it rested on the chair. His hand trailed up the sheath and brushed his core until all but two fingers lingered on his hilt. The Swordian sensed the atonement in the furtive gesture but had already forgiven him. In truth, he was elated to provide Judas, in this bizarre and convoluted manner, the physical affection he had been so sorely deprived for all these long years.

Now in the halted momentum of the previous brazen act, gauche energy prevailed as the looming realization of what they were doing followed closely behind. Fear it would settle and snap them back to their senses had the major falter, so much so that he began spluttering enough for Judas’ face to burn with second-hand embarrassment. 

“To think you had such a delicate face for a swordsman… I see now! You must wear a mask so that others won't underestimate—” His lips collided into Chaltier’s in a last-ditch effort to shut him up. Their teeth impacted one another just slightly and he pulled away with a simple, “You talk too much.”

Spurred on by the gesture, Chaltier captured the unmasked swordsman’s jawbone with a gloved hand to guide his face back towards him. Judas noted its large size as the major’s fingers crept up to gently cup his cheek, not that it should have come as any surprise given Chal’s widened hilt; nonetheless, it still gave him a small prickle of envy. 

The major explored the space behind his teeth with the following osculation, tongue tasting deliciously foreign in his mouth as Chaltier’s free hand began to trail down his side. Yet despite all his kissing and touching, Judas allowed him neither a sigh nor a word of encouragement so as not to draw unwanted attention from those beyond the walls. In frustration of being perceived as underwhelming, the major took a few steps towards his bunk until he felt the bed against the back of his knees and softly nudged Judas towards him, ever hopeful but never pushing.

“Chal,” Judas’ voice was thick as he, not Chaltier, pressed against him until the major collapsed into a sitting position on the bed behind him. The descent was nothing more than clumsy, resulting in one of Chaltier’s legs being caught between Judas’ thighs. As the major scrambled in a hasty attempt to untangle their limbs, his leg thoughtlessly brushed against a sensitive area and Judas finally elicited a soft moan, sparking his own arousal.

“S-Sorry,” he breathed, not feeling particularly apologetic at all. He stared hungrily at Judas’ bulge as the latter adjusted his position, the major bucking his hips slightly as their erections pressed together in the small movement. Opting for a more active approach, Chaltier leaned down to trace his tongue along the fabric layering the swordsman’s crotch before Judas weaved his fingers in a tuft of his hair and yanked him away.

“What are you doing?” he seethed. “This is the only garb I have.” A deception, perhaps, but Judas would not allow himself to be caught alive in his other set of attire.

Chaltier offered a meek nod before moving to make quick work of disrobing him. Leastwise that was his intention, until he found himself foiled by the intricate hidden clasps and fasteners keeping the outfit in place. His own ensemble was neither one to underestimate, as Judas would soon realize upon fidgeting with the major’s belt buckles, and the two wordlessly abandoned the reciprocal notion to focus on their respective clothing instead.

Before the major could completely remove his thermal, Judas’ freshly exposed skin beckoned and he heeded the call, peppering his neck and collarbone with sloppy kisses. When the swordsman swatted him away as a reminder of a more immediate needs, a familiar jovial titter coupled with the new sensation of warm breath against his auricle caused him to throb. Thankfully, no further prompting was necessary as Chaltier slid a hand down Judas’ thigh. There was a small electric jolt in feeling his large, ungloved hand brush against his cock before the major loosely wrapped his fingers around it. Judas jerked under the hold, body pulsing as the palm slipped shallowly up and down his erection. Not too far, not too fast, yet Judas writhed beneath his touch all the same. He had every intention of simultaneously returning the favor but when the pace quickened, it did not take long for him to lose himself to pleasure, much to Chaltier’s astonishment.

“That was—”

“No one asked your opinion,” Judas snapped breathlessly, chest heaving as ripples of the aftermath cascaded through him. For better or for worse, he had yet to notice the embarrassing evidence of his loss of self-control sullying the major’s hand and bed dressings.

“I was going to say charming,” Chaltier continued despite the sharp warning, lips curving into a silly smile, ever-so earnest and full of unbridled enthusiasm. It was quickly met with a persisting shove from Judas. His hand remained on Chaltier’s face as a stop gap measure whilst he regained his composure, a feat difficult to manage with the distraction of the major’s features contorting into an even wider smile against the flat of his palm. Judas could only imagine how this incident would inflate his ego and sighed.

Eyeing Chaltier’s own stiff dick, Judas languidly sprung it from the confines of his undergarments. Belated though the action may have been, he was now better equipped to handle the situation. The recollection of Chal encouraging him _pro re nata_ one morning after a particularly bothersome dream regarding Marian played absently at the corners of his mind. It never occurred to him then, but for Chal to be that knowledgeable must have meant he spent quite some time with himself in private.

True to his assumption, Chaltier had a firmer grasp on his threshold of stimulation. Nonetheless, even after a few experimental tugs, he was quick to provide little sighs and moans, and Judas’ palm was already slicked with precum. Heedful not to allow his blatant inexperience to shame him further, he tentatively leaned forward when the major trailed off into nervous stammering.

“Ehhh, you don’t have to… that is—d-don’t force yourself.”

Up close, Chaltier’s cock seemed a lot bigger, but Judas was reluctant to rescind. Instead, he bought himself more time as he shifted into a more comfortable position, then moistened his lips before finally wrapping them around its head. 

No sooner had he registered the feeling than Chaltier grasped at the bedsheets to find purchase, nearly undone by the suction alone. Years of refinement in understanding his own self-gratification could not have primed him for how he felt in Judas’ mouth. He had often fantasized being on the receiving end of his superiors—Dymlos, Karell, or at times, even Igtenos—, but this went far beyond his most intimate imaginary desires. Then Judas began to move, and tides, not ripples, of pleasure canted in his legs and his loins. 

The technique was amateur and inconsistent, bicuspids grazing the major’s crown and causing him to bite back a yelp. On the second try, however, Judas properly sheathed his teeth behind his lips and sucked. What he was not audacious for in length, he made up for with his hands, and Chaltier had to resist the temptation to pull him closer as he nested his fingers in his hair. As Judas traveled down, up, and then back down his shaft with increasing tempo, Chaltier’s hips trembled, his pleasured whines changing in pitch. For once, Judas thought, his fondness for ice candy was to his advantage, though he vacantly wished the taste now were more sweet. 

When Chaltier suddenly took his wrist and tilted his head upwards, he met his gaze with confusion. He was close, Judas could tell, but he simply gazed affectionately at him until Judas attempted to reclaim his hand. This seemed to pull the major out of his stupor, eyes cloudy with something betwixt desire and distress. 

“Do, do you think, perhaps, you’d… no, nevermind. Ah, but. Well, would you be all right if…? Not that you should feel inclined to, with someone like me—!”

There was no elegant way to ask, and silence, dense with diffidence, followed his half-finished question. It took a few moments—though fortuitously before Chaltier started in on another ridiculous tangent—for it to dawn on him, and when it did, Judas felt all the heat of a day in Calvalese rise to his face. Chaltier was requesting coitus! 

“I’ve already agreed to it, haven’t I,” he answered in an uncertain tone that betrayed declarative language.

Chaltier’s body shuddered in a silent cheer and he retrieved, with shaky hands, some items from beneath his bunk. On closer inspection, Judas recognized them to be a small bottle of oil and lambskin condoms, no doubt relics of lonely nights with how gracelessly he handled them. Anxiety clenched in Judas’ stomach. He had no idea what he was doing and if the major’s awkward, jerky movements were any indication, neither did he.

“Are you ready?”

It was too late to abjure, not with Chaltier’s slick fingers hovering dangerously close to his perineum, nor with how his body reacted so favorably to the touch. While loath to admit, he _wanted_ this.

“Do as you like.”

Before long, the major tentatively slid a finger inside of his entrance, and Judas felt a fleeting sharp pain as he forced himself to relax. Chaltier backed off concomitantly, reassessing his approach with a contrite mien. 

Instead, the major pressed their lips together, then kissed away towards his ear. It provided an ample distraction, enough for Judas to feel comfortable in wrapping his arms around Chaltier’s neck, feeling the brush of the major’s hair against his nose. It was different from embracing Chal to share a hushed conversation in the shadows—of course it would be. Where he had steel and lens, his master had flesh and bones. But the soft humming that made the silence between his own numbing thoughts bearable remained the same.

He had been so caught up in his mind that it was not until he felt thumbs circling his opening that he registered Chaltier having spread his cheeks at all. Judas endured to keep his breath even as the major began applying slow, gentle pressure. When he was at last able to rehook his fingertip inside, he kept his movements small despite his eagerness. Judas swelled with an implacable feeling and the major’s finger slid in fully. He then took caution, remaining still long enough for Judas to adjust to the sensation, before he began curving upwards and massaging in different directions to help loosen him. Judas’ breath hitched, forcing him to clamp down in effort to swallow his voice.

All it took was a simple flick of the eyes to communicate he was willing to accept more. With the addition of more lube, Chaltier inserted a second slippery finger into his tight channel and repeated the process. Once he had inserted a third, Judas was tilting his hips closer in tacit impatience despite the slight unpleasantness of being stretched out. Chaltier’s grin returned. 

Judas resented himself for being bothered by the lack of fullness as Chaltier withdrew his fingers, and how time felt agonizingly slow as he rolled on a condom and lubed his prick. It took a few tries to get lined up, and each time Judas braced against feeling Chaltier’s cock against his skin. He was about to tell the major to hurry and get on with it when he finally felt the thick head breaching him, slowly pushing past the restricting muscles. Why did he have to be so deceptively big anyway?

And that was when it hit him—this was really happening, he was going to be fucked by Chal.

“Are you all right?” 

He grunted in return, but the major was awfully persistent. How many more times did he have to consent? Finally, Judas croaked out a blistering, “ _Please_.”

Chaltier abided, closing the gap between them until his cock slipped slowly, inch by inch, into his body. It took every bit of the major’s self-control to keep from coming right then and there. When at last his hips were flush with Judas’, he keenly searched his face for a reaction. 

“As I expected of you,” the major breathed. “You feel so—”

Judas _felt_ stretched and filled and hurt, but the hot waves radiating through his core superseded all of it. 

“Start moving.” 

It took only a few thrusts for Chaltier to near his limit, and he grabbed at Judas’ oncoming erection to stroke in time with the frantic movements below. He failed terribly, of course, unable to keep in sync with the uneven rhythm he had set. Judas shut his eyes regardless, ignoring the moist slap of their thighs and instead focusing on the scent of sudor mingling with the earthy redolence clinging to his body, the sound of his rasp breaths against his ear, and the feel of rough calluses on his otherwise soft hands. He wanted to commit it all to memory so that he could recall it in those private moments he held his Swordian to his chest and confided.

“ _Chal…_!” His thoughts were ripped from him as he felt a particular spot being brushed against, causing him to arch his back almost painfully. Through half-lidded eyes, he could make out a look of concentration and longing before he clenched down on the major’s cock without meaning to. Chaltier gave a stifled moan and it did not take long for Judas to feel the condom swell inside of him. Yet only as Chaltier half-crumbled on him with a final jerk, heart beating wildly against Judas’ chest, was he, too, sent over the edge. 

Everything grew soft around the edges, and Judas felt surrounded by a scorching white heat. He no longer had a sense of time or space. Then, gradually, his fading rush of endorphins made him aware that he was lying in bed next to Chaltier, their heads almost touching. The major had stirred before he could be bothered to, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead between winded breaths before closing his eyes, and they laid together enveloped in darkness.

He relished the moment until their breaths evened and slowed. Then as the shallow breaths next to him grew deeper, Judas soundlessly stood and redressed whilst the major slumbered. When at last he readjusted Chal beneath his cape and redonned his mask, he slid out into the shadows of the hallway, shutting the door behind him in a finite manner.

“ _Young Master…_ ” the Swordian’s voice filled his head with an air of something impalpable.

Judas simply let the moment pass in silence. In the lull, the burden of responsibility to do nothing was silently compartmentalized. The events of tomorrow would still unfold, bound by fate, but tonight marked Judas’ first and only unfilled by nightmares.


End file.
